CHAPTER XV

=MEDICAL “STEERERS” AND THEIR WORK=

Every doctor has his steerers, people who drum up business for him. In many instances it is a service willingly performed out of real affection and confidence in the skill and ability of the physician. The latter is unconscious of any such influence being exerted in his behalf until he is told by some new patient, “I was advised to come to you by Mr. ——, who says you are the only man who ever did him any good.” This is “steering,” legitimate, unpaid-for steering. The doctor is, of course, grateful to Mr. ——, or ought to be, but it is seldom that he gives the matter a second thought.

Then there is another kind of “steering,” the cold, commercial variety in which the labors of the steerer, if they are successful, are rewarded in coin of the realm. Nearly every advertising physician—and some who do not advertise—has one or more of the genus “steerer” on his staff.

There is just as much caste, just as pronounced a social distinction in this calling as there is in the medical profession itself. The cheap doctor has cheap, rough steerers; the doctor who is higher up in the social scale has smooth diplomats in his employ. The object of all is the same—to get business for their employer, and the more business they get the larger are their incomes.

There are some steerers who think themselves well repaid if they are handed a dollar for each patient they land in the office of the physician who employs them. These are the men who can approach only a cheap class of people to whom a five dollar fee is the limit.

The better class of steerers, the men who work for the big fee getters, scorn a salary, or a stated amount for each patient. They prefer a percentage, usually one-quarter of the fee secured from the patient. There are men in Chicago who are making $150 a week in this occupation.

Go into the rotunda of any first-class hotel in Chicago, New York, or some other large city and affect to walk lame as if afflicted with locomotor ataxia, or make up to resemble a confirmed invalid. It will not be long before you will be approached by some well-dressed, prosperous-looking individual who will say:

“Beg pardon, sir, but you appear to be suffering from locomotor ataxia. You will excuse me for addressing you, but I was afflicted in the same way myself for ten years, and have a sympathetic feeling for fellow sufferers.”

If you are a genuine sufferer this will command your attention. Here is a robust, healthy man who tells you that for ten years he was afflicted with the same ailment which you have been assured by many physicians is incurable. Naturally you want to know how the disease was overcome. The stranger smiles, and says:

“Why the thing is so easy it sounds ridiculous, and I dislike to tell of it on that account. For eight years I doctored, and spent a large amount of money, without obtaining the slightest relief. About two years ago I read in a magazine of a new treatment with which wonderful results were being accomplished. After so many failures I naturally didn’t have much faith, but things couldn’t be any worse so I decided to investigate. What I learned led me to take the treatment. There was an improvement after the first week, and at the end of the sixth month I was just as sound as I am to-day. That was eighteen months ago, and there are no signs of a reaction of any kind.”

By this time the real sufferer is deeply impressed. Here is a prosperous stranger, once a fellow sufferer, dangling before his eyes the hope, nay, the certainty, of cure, with no other object than that of sympathy. It is the one chance for which he has been so long and fruitlessly seeking.

Pressed to tell where this wonderful treatment may be had, the “steerer,” if he is one of the sharp ones, will be apt to say:

“I believe the address is No. —— Michigan Avenue. Let’s see, I think I have the doctor’s card in my pocket somewhere.”

Meantime he searches through various pockets (knowing full well all the time where it is) and finally locates the doctor’s card.

“Ah, yes, here it is. ‘Dr. ——, —— Michigan Avenue.’”

Adroitly he changes the topic at this point, shifting to the various features of the disease itself, its excruciating pains, the cushion-soled feet, loss of various bodily functions, and other unfailing accompaniments of the ailment. Comparing notes the two find that they have suffered much in the same way (all ataxia patients do) and from that moment there is a strong bond of fellowship between them.

The smooth steerer tells of the various treatments he had taken at great cost and without results, glibly describes the many drugs swallowed, and the tortures endured with mechanical appliances, such as the “hanging” process, winding up with “but not one of them did a bit of good until I took up the —— —— treatment.”

The actual sufferer has met a congenial spirit, and talks freely. Without realizing it he tells of his business affairs, his financial condition, and similar matters. During all this the steerer makes no suggestion that he should call on Dr. ——. Far from it. He studiously avoids anything of the kind. The bait has been cast and the fish will rise to it of his own accord. Having secured all the information he wants the “steerer” will rise and excuse himself on the ground of an important business engagement. Handing out a neatly engraved card he says:

“If you ever come to New York, Mr. ——, I would like to have you hunt me up. I’d stay longer with you this afternoon, but for this pressing engagement.”

The card reads about like this:

MR. G. ADDINGTON WELLS

1027 Broadway

Structural Iron New York City

The card is a blind. “G. Addington Wells” is an assumed name. But it sounds well. Your smooth “steerer” never pretends to live in the same city in which he finds his victim. It might be too easy to locate him in case he was wanted. He lives in Chicago, all right, but he assumes the role of an Eastern business man here on business purposes. His appearance, his general “get up,” his talk is all impressive and calculated to beget confidence. That’s his business. He’s a fake all through, even to the nature of the ailment with which he pretends to have been afflicted. He was never seriously ill in his life. But he’s a clever fakir; we must give him credit for that. He’s an artist in his line.

There is one man of this kind in Chicago so thoroughly posted in medicine that he can accurately describe the symptoms and characteristics of half a dozen chronic ailments, and in one week has successfully played the role of having entirely recovered from each. If he meets a tabetic sufferer he has been successfully treated for tabes, and will converse intelligently about tabetic conditions. Chronic arthritis, nephritis, paralysis agitans, lateral sclerosis; they are all known to this chap. He’s had them all—in his mind—when he wants to impress a sufferer, and he seldom makes a mistake.

Almost invariably as the “steerer” is about to leave the sufferer will say: “If I can stand the trip I’ll go down and see this Dr. —— this afternoon. How far is it from here?”

“Well, it’s quite a journey for a man in your condition, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you want to go now you can ride in my cab. I’m going that way and I’ll drop you out at the doctor’s. He will see that you get back to the hotel all right.”

This suits the sufferer, who is pleased with the attention shown him by the “steerer.” The latter excuses himself for a moment while he “telephones for a cab.” He goes into the telephone booth but, instead of calling for a cab, he rings up the doctor.

“Hello, is this Dr. ——? Yes. This is Wells. Just landed a good one at the La Salle. Will bring him down in about twenty minutes. Name is Smith, banker at Pontiac. Well fixed.”

Then he rejoins the sufferer, escorts him carefully to the sidewalk and places him in a taxicab. The doctor’s office is not far off, but the chauffeur takes the longest way, and during the ride the “steerer” tells of having lived in New York all his life with the exception of the six months he was under treatment in Chicago, and dilates upon the wonders of the Eastern metropolis. On reaching the doctor’s the “steerer” looks at his watch, saying:

“I’ve got ten minutes to spare so I’ll go up to the doctor’s office with you.”

The sufferer is glad of this assistance, and when they reach the office is impressed by the dignified appearance of the specialist who greets “Wells” warmly.

“How do you do, Mr. Wells. I was afraid you had forgotten me.”

“Oh, no, Doctor, I couldn’t do that, after all you have done for me. But, really I can’t stop to talk now. I’ll see you again before I leave town. Dr. ——, this is Mr. Smith of Pontiac, who is suffering the same as I was. If you do as well for him as you did for me I think he will have reason to be glad he came here. Good day, gentlemen. Excuse me for my haste, but I must get away.”

“Fine man, that Wells,” says the doctor to Mr. Smith, after the “steerer” has gone.

“Yes, indeed,” replies Smith. “Mighty glad I met him. He has given me a lot of valuable advice and aid.”

“One of the toughest cases I ever had,” continues the doctor, “but I pulled him through all right, and I’m proud of it.”

By this time Mr. Smith is an easy subject to handle. “Wells” has paved the way, and the doctor does the rest. Smith pays a good-sized fee, say $1,000, and begins treatment.

Later in the day the “steerer” calls on the doctor again and gets his bit—$250. Any chance for the doctor to hold out on him? Not a chance in the world. In the first place he is too valuable a man to lose and it is to the doctor’s interest to treat him fairly. Besides this the “steerer” is in position to protect himself. If he has any doubts about the size of the fee he will drop in on Mr. Smith again at the hotel the same evening “just for a moment’s chat before I leave the city.”

“How did you get along with the doctor, Mr. Smith?” he will ask.

“Very nicely. He seems to be a good man, and apparently understands his business. But he’s pretty steep in his fees.”

“Yes; he’s a good man, and an A No. 1 physician. As for fees, all these big specialists charge pretty well, but we shouldn’t mind that if we get relief. I paid him $1,000.”

“That’s just what he charged me,” says Mr. Smith.

After a few moments chat the “steerer” leaves, satisfied that the doctor has given him the agreed-upon commission. If, on the other hand, he finds that the doctor has “held out” on him he hunts him up and remonstrates. Should this be of no avail the “steerer” severs business relations with that particular specialist, and makes a compact with one of his competitors. Good “steerers” are always in demand and the doctor who picks up an artist in this line is pretty sure to use him well so as to make sure of retaining him.

It is not every day that the steerer can pick up a patient that will net him $250. Sometimes his “bit” will not be more than $12.50 or $25, but it is safe to say that a smooth man who thoroughly understands the business can easily average $150 a week. He takes life easy, dresses well, and lives on the fat of the land. Few patients after paying a big fee to the doctor feel like staying at an expensive hotel for any length of time. Besides this the doctor generally manipulates matters so that the patient finds it to his interest to board at some place recommended by the physician. This clears the road for the steerer at the hotels and leaves him free to operate among them without fear of running into any of his victims. In a city where there are a number of large hotels it is an easy matter for the steerer to so regulate his movements as to avoid suspicion by being seen around any one house too often or continuously.

There are women “steerers” also, but they work in a much different manner from the men. In nearly every community there are women of business instinct who are not averse to earning some “easy” money. One of these women will make an arrangement with Dr. Sweatem by which she is to receive a commission on all the patients she may send him. Her commission is not so large as that given the men steerers because she does not work among strangers, or personally take such patients as she may secure to the doctor’s office. Still it is a handsome sum—generally 10 or 15 per cent of the fee—enough to give an active, influential woman a very respectable income.

The woman “steerer” makes it her business to join various clubs and churches, take part in all women movements, and to get acquainted with as many of her sex as possible. She especially cultivates the acquaintance of well-to-do women who are real sufferers, or imagine themselves to be afflicted in some manner. She encourages them to talk about their physical troubles, is kindly sympathetic, and, at the proper moment makes delicate suggestion that it would be well for the sufferer to see Dr. Sweatem.

“He’s such a grand man. Seems to know just what to do, and has been so successful in treating a lot of my friends. I wouldn’t think of going to anyone but him myself.”

Thus the seed is sown, and in time bears fruit. The well-to-do sufferer goes to see Dr. Sweatem and is relieved of a good fee, if nothing else. The doctor in the meantime has been advised over the phone by the woman “steerer” that Mrs. —— is coming to see him, and informed as to her financial condition, as well as the nature of the ailment with which she thinks she is afflicted. Armed with this information he knows just what to do when Mrs. —— arrives at his office, and the patient is deeply impressed by the manner in which he so accurately diagnosed her case at the first interview.

Another point of information always conveyed in advance to the doctor is the age of the prospective caller. Thus advised, when the interview does take place he is in position to say:

“A woman of your age—let’s see, you’re not over 32, are you, Mrs. ——? —— ought to,” etc.

“Oh, yes, Doctor, I’m 40,” will be the answer.

“You surprise me. I would never think it.”

Foxy doctor. He knows all the time her exact age because the “steerer” has told him, but he’s too smooth to give himself away. And thus he makes another ally, and easily-duped patient. As for Mrs. ——, she is enthusiastic. She reports her visit to the “steerer,” saying:

“I’m glad you advised me to go. He’s a splendid doctor; perfectly lovely, and I know he’s going to do me good.”

And he does. Not only that, but the chances are that her enthusiasm will give Dr. Sweatem opportunity to “do” the patient’s intimate friends and relatives also.